Honey & Spice
by FrenchieLeigh
Summary: When Petra lands a mysterious tenant above her bakery, she inadvertantly captures the heart of one of their world's most dangeous men. AU: Rivetra
1. Fresh Start

**Author's Note: **This was _supposed _to be a oneshot but then it got longer and more dramatic so I'm chopping it into two chapters. :3

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Shingeki no Kyojin/Attack on Titan characters.

**Honey & Spice: Chapter One**

"It's a little small, but for one person it should be alright."

Petra Ral slid the key into the lock and with a light smile, swung open the door to the tiny apartment above the bakery she ran in downtown Karanese. With a welcoming arm, she gestured inside and allowed the man beside her to enter first.

"It might be a bit dusty," she admitted, "I haven't been in here much since the renovation."

He didn't respond, taking in the modest space with a detached sort of observation.

"Of course if you don't like the wall colours I could have someone come in and change them."

"It's fine," he said simply, "I'll take it."

Petra let out a breath of relief that she hadn't realized she'd been holding in. With a nervous sort of polite laughter, she handed him the keys she'd used to let them in.

"Welcome home then, Mr. Ackerman," she said with a bright grin. She expected him to return the expression; he had just secured himself a fashionable abode in one of the more pricey districts of the city after all. Instead, he blinked and muttered a simple 'thank you.'

Unsure of where to go from there, she took a few steps back in order to give him a bit more privacy.

"Ah, I live just there," she told him, pointing through the open doorway to the apartment directly across from his. "in the event you ever need anything. This level used to be a single living space but after my father passed away I thought it might be better to convert it to two. That's why the layout is a bit strange. This is an old building so there was some difficulty with regards to wiring and plumbing and—" she halted, realizing he was staring at her with a look that told her the flat could have been conjured by magicians and he would not have cared so long as there was a door to shut out the annoyances of the outside world.

At the moment, she was one such annoyance.

"I'll let you be," she said with a half smile, "but might I ask what you do for work? I only ask because I've never had a tenant before and I suppose I would like to know something about my new neighbor."

For the first time since he'd entered the building, Levi Ackerman focused his attention to her. Up until now he had only been half-listening, exhausted from work, from travel, and from the bullshit politics that made his job a lot more complicated than it needed to be. He was in a new city now, able to fabricate a new life if only just for a short while, but God damn it all he just needed to _sleep_.

"My job is not up for discussion," he stated curtly, "you'll get your money on time."

Petra blinked, then her brow furrowed with insult. "I wasn't implying otherwise," she told him, standing her ground.

Ah, shit. He'd offended her. He didn't have time for this.

"I won't talk about my job with you," he repeated, this time in a softer tone, one of a man who was accustomed to weaving his way through a woman's emotions (even though he wasn't), "but I promise I won't make trouble for you."

This seemed to appease her, as she relaxed and smiled at him again. Did she know how to do anything else besides smile? What was she so happy about?

"Be sure that you don't then," she warned, though her words were light and almost playful.

She turned then, presumedly to return downstairs and provide the city's inhabitants with sweets and baked goods, and though Levi truly wanted nothing more than to collapse onto the couch to his right or the bed he'd been told the bedroom was furnished with, there were more important matters at hand.

"Miss Ral?"

Just crossing the threshold, Petra paused, glancing back at him with curious eyes of a rather enticing amber. "Yes?"

He cleared his throat. "Might I borrow your cleaning supplies? I haven't had the chance to secure my own just yet."

**xxxx**

When Petra left her apartment at quarter to four the next morning, she was surprised to see her cleaning things neatly arranged beside her door mat. Even the cleaning cloths had been washed and folded.

By five o'clock she had her breads in the ovens, and just after that she began mixing up her batches of muffins for the breakfast rush. _Rush_ was a loose term. Though the bakery wasn't floundering, she couldn't say it was particularly prosperous either. She had her regulars, and more than a few walk-ins each day but compared to the newer, trendier eateries, many people wondered why she was wasting her time.

It wasn't a waste to Petra. Her mother had opened the bakery before she'd married, running with her passion for cakes and pies. Then it had been popular. Her mother had a gift for sweets, charm with the clientele and a distinct sense of aesthetics. When she married, her husband brought breads and savory treats to the menu and their success soared.

An accident stole her life from her; an old drunk who no longer valued his life had swerved his vehicle onto oncoming traffic, a quick suicide.

Heartbroken, the widower shut himself away for six months. Petra was six.

When he decided to re-open, he did so with a newly light heart. The business had been his wife's pride, her passion, and her unadulterated joy. Who was he to let that dream wither, even in her death? But he was not as skilled as his wife had been. His cakes were heavy, his pies a little too bland. His mousse never quite reached the consistency it was supposed to and any cookie crumbled like sand in the eater's mouth.

Unable to sustain the bakery on bread alone he watched his customers disappear one by one. The decor became dated and his spirit waned.

During this time, despite her father's failures, Petra became determined to save her family's establishment. She had no inherent talent as far as baking went, but she was certain that with enough experimentation, she'd find the key to the flavors her mother had presented before her. Though she lacked creativity and the thrill of risk taking in the kitchen, her technical skills were masterful and her passion was undeniable.

By the time she'd graduated high school, she decided to forego university. Her father lamented over this, but when she pointed out they'd _just_ began to come ahead of their bills and her desires were to run the bakery when he was no longer able to do so, he found it difficult to argue with her. There was always time to pursue education, he supposed.

Her wish to take over the business came true far sooner than she had ever wanted. A heart attack robbed her of her father the following year, the result of too much stress they said. She buried him, she wept, and then she went to the kitchen.

She wouldn't let that become of her. She'd stand tall and complete the tasks both of her parents had begun. She wasn't alone, she knew that. She could hear her mother's sweet laughter in the sugar that she poured out, and she could feel her father's comforting embrace whenever she pulled the loaves from the ovens. They were here with her and she would make them proud.

She'd done well. A simple budget friendly makeover to the interior had invited new guests and the sweet charisma she had inherited from her mother kept them coming back, sometimes with friends. On the six month marker of her father's death she decided to convert the large home above her shop into two smaller units with hopes of renting one for extra income. Perhaps she'd even make a friend.

Now, nearly eighteen months after she'd lost him, she could say she was doing alright for herself. She smiled as she pulled a full sheet of cookies from the oven. She'd finally managed to acquire a tenant so perhaps she'd be able to afford those new proof boxes she'd been eyeing in the supply catalogue.

As she turned to set the tray down on a metal table, a figure in the doorway caused her to jump, her grip on the cookies tightening significantly.

It was him. Her tenant.

"Did you need something?" she wondered. She hadn't expected him to come down here so early; it was only five-thirty. The staircase to both apartments was just outside the door to the kitchen so passing by her on his way in or out was inevitable, but he was lingering.

Levi flicked his gaze towards the dining area of the shop, just outside a set of white saloon doors. "I'd like to purchase something to eat."

After cleaning, he'd passed out, fully intending to sleep until the next evening, but his internal clock had protested, waking him up at this ungodly hour.

"Oh," she said, setting the cookies down, "well I don't actually open until six." She reached for a corn muffin, still warm. "but if you want—"

Levi turned and left.

"Hey!" she called out, hurrying after him, muffin in hand. "You don't have to—" she heard the door to his apartment close and her shoulders dropped. "…go."

At ten past six the bell chimed, signaling the arrival of her first customer. She didn't even need to look up from the case she was filling; she knew who it was. She already had a coffee waiting for him. Snatching a small piece of wax paper, she reached in for a blueberry scone, dropping it into a bag and setting it on the counter along with the coffee.

"Good morning Erd," she chirped, flashing the tall blonde man a smile. Erd Gin had been a regular for five or so years, when he had interned at an office building a few blocks down. He had a particular affinity for spinach pies, but when Petra had begun to take up baking alongside her father, he had been enthusiastic in trying all of her concoctions whether failures or successes.

"You know," he said, staring into the glass cases, "I think I'll take a dozen of those sugar cookies too."

She gave him a genuine look of surprise as she reached for a box. "Cookies?"

"Yeah," he said, "a gift for the Mrs."

Sneaking an extra into the box, she smiled. He'd married four months ago and from what he told her, they were already trying for a baby. She looked forward to pictures of the little cherub.

He left with the flash of a peace sign, calling out that he'd be back for lunch and just as he was backing out the door, he nearly tripped over a short, suited man.

"Sorry dude," he mumbled, moving out of Levi's path.

"Mr. Ackerman!" Petra's voice rang out through the empty room and she smiled nearly as bright as the morning sun that was steadily creeping over the horizon.

Levi regarded her with a short stare before turning his attention to her selection and making his choices with a few quick jabs of his fingers.

"And tea," he added when she set his breakfast down on the counter.

When she handed him his change, she opened her mouth to ask how he'd enjoyed his first night, but a group of chatty teenagers spilled in, all fighting for a view of the breakfast items fresh baked. Like Erd, these kids were regulars, snagging breakfast and coffee before school and thought most of them were loud, they were (mostly) polite, and some of the most loyal customers she had.

Levi did not wait for them to leave. He disappeared through the crowd and for the rest of the day, Petra neither heard nor saw any sign of him.

As she flipped her OPEN sign to CLOSED, she hummed a little tune, retreating to the kitchen to sort out her 'day-old' discount basket for tomorrow. There wasn't much of it; it had been a good day. Her hand hovered over the muffins she had baked that morning and a thought came to her.

She pulled a smaller basket from a shelf, lining it with a towel and arranged muffins, mini pies, and two small loaves of bread, folding the towel over the top of it and setting it aside. Once the shop was cleaned for the night, she grabbed the basket, shut the light, and headed upstairs where she'd have dinner, shower, catch up on some reading, then go to bed.

Before retreating to her own sanctuary, she stopped at the door across from hers, taking a deep breath and giving the door a series of solid knocks.

This Levi Ackerman was a strange and mysterious sort of man who intrigued her but it would be a lie to say she was expecting him to answer the door for her. Yet he did.

He stood before her in the same suit he'd worn the day before, but she was certain he hadn't left the house. Did he not have any other clothes? Or perhaps he hadn't retrieved them from his last place yet.

"Ah, I thought you might like these," she said, holding the basket out to him. "It doesn't seem like you've had the chance to go grocery shopping yet."

Levi took it, lifting the towel and peeking in. The scent alone sent his stomach rumbling. He'd been too busy today to think about food after he'd bought breakfast.

"Thank you," he said simply, without a smile.

"That is of course assuming you think my baking is any good," she replied with a nervous laugh, "I'm not as good as my mother was, I assure you."

She had a habit of talking about things that were none of his business, he noted. While normally he would make a point of silencing pointless chatter, he couldn't help but find this young woman remarkably endearing. He felt familiar with her when she spoke to him. Perhaps it was because she herself was so comfortable around him. His bitter expression and short words did not deter her and even when he'd implied the sort of work he did was less than honorable (a mistake on his part; he should have lied), she was easily assured by a simple promise not to cause a ruckus.

There was, of course, the chance that she was just stupid. No one in their right mind would trust someone like him, but then again, he supposed she didn't know what sort of man he was and had no reason to think he might be good, bad, or otherwise. Additionally, he doubted a woman of low intelligence would be able to singlehandedly wield a business in the food industry the way she did. Especially at her age.

Which, he realized, he was wondering just what it was.

She bade him a good night and when he closed the door, he set the basket of pastries on the kitchen table and opened the sliding door that led to his balcony. Resting his arms on the bannister, he looked out into the night.

It was growing cold; autumn was steadily approaching. His cell phone rang from its place on his bed and he sighed. He'd be working tonight then.

Returning inside, he slid his thumb across the touchscreen, listened to the voicemail, then deleted it. Simple enough.

He reached inside his jacket where two pistols lay against his chest, resting in their holster. Checking each one for ammunition, he readied himself. His cute landlady being a baker was an advantage for him in this city. She rose and retired early. By eight-thirty her lights were off and at nine, Levi slipped from the building and into the shadows of the city.

The next morning was quite like the one before it. Erd bought his scone and coffee (no baby yet), the teens came in their clan ("you should make sausage and bacon muffins, Miss Ral!") but this time Levi waited for them to dissipate before he entered.

Like the previous day, he made his selections and muttered for a tea. At first Petra thought perhaps he hadn't liked what she had brought for him, but when he specifically ordered another corn muffin, she smiled. So he liked them.

For a moment he considered speaking to her, but remembering that he wasn't good with women, he kept his mouth shut and went upstairs. He'd be shopping today. He might be in this city a while.

One particularly cold morning, Petra woke earlier than usual, headed into the bakery to have a go at something new. Her mother didn't have a recipe for it so she was relying on her memories from nearly fifteen years ago.

Ninety minutes later, the smell of apples and cinnamon filled the kitchen and with an excited sort of hop, she pulled the treat from the oven. It smelled perfect. She placed it on the table, not waiting for it to cool, snatched a white plate from her left, and scooped out a spoonful. She blew on it for a bit, then stuck a bite into her mouth, biting down.

It was terrible.

Disappointed, she tossed the plate onto the steel table, wincing as the clatter resonated through the silence. The fork slid off the plate and tumbled to the cement floor but she didn't care. With crossed arms she chewed furiously, steaming in her failure. It'd been so long since she'd botched something, she wasn't sure how to handle the situation,

The next day, she tried again.

The flavor was a little better, but only just. While the previous dish had been far too tart, today's was much too sweet.

The third day was only slightly more enjoyable. Her sugar ratio was improving, but even after an hour, the apples were still sour and crunchy, far too crunchy. Additionally, no matter how much she switched up her topping mix, it crumbled in all the wrong ways.

The fourth attempt was made on a Tuesday when her shop was closed. First she bought a new variety of apples. Having never cooked with the fruit before (they weren't particularly popular in her region), she knew very little about it. After talking to a fruit vendor who pointed her in the right direction, Petra felt much more confident in her endeavor.

Sure enough, the apples cooked down to a perfect texture, had a sensational blend of flavors, and were also available in her produce vendor's stock for a moderate price. The topping, however, left much to be desired.

Wednesday would be the day, she decided. She _would_ perfect this dish today.

She chopped up her apples, tossed them with sugar, brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, just a wee bit of lemon juice and a dash of salt. Cubing some butter, she put a low flame on the stove, then placed the chunks in a small saucepan, giving them the chance to melt. With a deep inhale, she grabbed a mixing bowl. Brown sugar. Cinnamon. Nutmeg. Sugar. Oats.

"What the Hell are you failing at?"

The sharp, demanding words cut through her serenity and she froze, lifting her eyes up to the door. It was only a little bit past four in the morning, but Levi stood before her in black boot cut jeans and a grey dress shirt, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was leaning against the frame, arms crossed, looking at her with his disapproving eyebrows furrowed over his eyes.

After the initial shock wore off, offense sank in.

"_Excuse me_?"

"I want to know what you suck at," he clarified, "there's something here that you can't cook worth shit."

Petra stood up a bit straighter, taking hold of the knife at her right and pointing it at him. It wasn't a threat, but it felt good.

"What makes you think I'm having trouble?" she demanded, giving the blade a small flourish, "you don't even come out of your house unless it's to eat."

An amused glint flickered through Levi's eyes. She was truly adorable. Covered head to toe in sugar and spices she was a marvel to him. Her honey coloured hair peeked out from beneath her white baker's cap, tickling the nape of her neck. The knife in her hands was a small one, a six inch chef's knife, perfect for her tiny hands. His own body was similar in size, though when he found it in himself to cook, he preferred a seven inch knife.

"I've been smelling apples for days," he told her, "but nothing in your cases have apples in them. Something's not coming out right."

She couldn't deny it. Her face must have given her away because he sighed and pushed off the doorframe, making his way into the kitchen. Petra tensed, her hold on the knife never loosening. She didn't think he intended to hurt her over a bit of pastry, but she still wasn't certain what to make of him.

"What are you making?" he asked, peering into the bowls.

"A-an apple crisp," she replied, setting down the utensil and pushing the bowl of apples away, "I can't get the topping right."

Levi blinked at the ingredients, then turned, searching through the large wheeled canisters beneath her work table. Finding the one he was looking for, he pushed back his sleeve a bit, jabbed the scoop in, and then dumped the contents into her bowl. Petra waved away the cloud that puffed upwards and Levi tossed the metal scoop back into the plastic bin.

"Flour?"

He didn't say anything, simply starting at her and daring her to doubt him. With a slightly hesitant expression, she mixed the dry ingredients, added her butter, and poured the crumble over the apples once she'd arranged them in the pan. Setting a timer on the oven, she lifted her shoulders.

"We'll see, I guess."

"It's what you needed," he said factually, gathering up the various measuring instruments and bowls that she had dirtied thus far, setting them in one of the bays of a large sink. He turned on both the hot water and the soap dispenser, grabbed a dishcloth from the shelf and with not a word to her, set himself to washing her dishes.

"You don't have to do that, Mr. Ackerman," she said, jogging over and reaching to snatch the cloth from him, "I am more than capable of doing things myself."

With an expert sort of finesse, he moved both the cloth and the dish he was soaping up out from her reach, continuing his movements.

"I can't sleep," he told her simply. When she hesitated to respond, he added, "not because of you. You aren't a bother to me."

She hovered by him for a moment, partially beside him, yet slightly at his back, watching as he dutifully cleaned her messes. It was then that she came to see how handsome he was. He was a serious sort of man, that much she had gathered, but despite his rough attitude, she didn't think he was a bad person.

His hair, parted slightly on the side, fell over his eyes, moving gently with the rhythm of his scrubbing. His eyes were narrow but concentrated, and he breathed heavily, as if he were trying to wash away a thousand memories.

"Don't you have work to do?"

Lost in her appraisal of him, Petra took a step back, wiping her hands on her apron. "Ah, yes. I do."

"Best get to it then," he said, moving a bowl to the rinse bay and giving it a little swirl with his fingers, "I'll stay here for a while."

By the time the crisp was pulled from the oven, all of the day's breads were baking, the muffins portioned out, and several cookie batters mixed. She hadn't realized how much time washing her own dishes took.

"Well let's see how it tastes!" she said, giving a little clap as Levi set two small plates before them.

When she handed him his plate and fork she looked at him, her eyes bright with anticipation and he raised a brow. "I'm not going to be your guinea pig," he told her, "if it's shit I don't want to eat it."

"Well fine then," she huffed, stuffing a bite into her own mouth without a second thought. She grimaced at first, not having waited for it to cool, but then her cheeks became tinged with pink and she rubbed her elbows in the air, cooing.

"Ahhhh!" she cried, "it's _perfect_!" With a tiny squeal of joy, she leapt forward, throwing her arms around his neck. "Thank you!"

And just like that, Levi felt his entire world shift.

"Try it try it!" she insisted, motioning for him to eat, "oh, oh, oh! I'm going to pack some for Erd. He'd _love_ this!"

She scampered about the kitchen, looking for the perfect packaging for her new masterpiece and in silence, Levi enjoyed what he'd helped her to create.

**xxxx**

**Author's Notes: **Yaaaaay Bakery AU!


	2. Duty Calls

**Author's Note: **That one time I said two chapters, I lied. It just kept getting longer. :3

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Shingeki no Kyojin/Attack on Titan characters.

**Honey & Spice: Chapter Two**

From that day forward, apple crisp (along with other type of cobblers and crumbles) made their way as staples on the bakery menu. Petra was surprised at how well received they were and at times found it difficult to keep up with the demand.

Each day Levi arrived at her kitchen, picking up scattered pans and bowls, dusting off a shelf, wiping down a counter while she wasn't looking. Cleaning relaxed him, she had been told and while it was true his obsession with cleaning stemmed from the anxiety and stress of living life as a syndicate assassin, he found himself wanting to clean that space in particular just to be near to her.

She was so incredibly _alive_, her presence felt like the long anticipated downpour that his desert of a heart had unknowingly longed for all his life. He doubted she recognized this; she acted no differently towards him than she did towards Erd, or that meat girl Sasha, or the trio of punks. She was a good person, plain and simple and though he knew nothing would come of it, he would enjoy it while he could.

While her business picked up, so did his efforts. With such a smooth transition that he didn't even realize, Levi soon began to help at the front counter during the busy hours, engaging the customers with a surprising ease. Kids smiled at him, old women called him 'dear', and some of the young men who had at one point been pursuing the clueless Petra's affections began to wane at his sharp, protective stare.

Every so often he'd leave flowers at the register for her when she opened. She always blushed and fumbled with her words, but put them in a vase with water, proudly telling anyone who asked that Levi had left them for her.

"Isn't he good to me?" she would ask, hiding a giggle behind her hand while everyone nodded in agreement that it was about time she had someone help her manage this place. Embarassed by the attention, Levi would scowl and scold her with an annoyed 'tch' before retreating back into the kitchen.

They ate lunch together daily, and neither of them ever missed the opportunity to wipe a rogue crumb from the other's mouth, or take the offensive, blowing the wrappers off their straws, five points for the nose, ten points for an eye. She always lost those battles but did so with grace, laughter, and a proclamation of how lucky she was to have his help.

When Erd finally announced his soon-to-be fatherhood, Levi helped Petra make the cake she was gifting to her (now their) dear friend. She drew on his back with icing. He blew powdered sugar in her face.

Was this what it meant to be a normal man?

Each night he'd walk her up the stairs. She'd invite him for tea. He'd politely decline.

He had a job to do, after all.

Closing the door behind her, Petra let out a satisfied sigh. She was overdue for a shower; today had been particularly busy and she was looking forward to washing the sweat and flour from her body.

As she made her way to the bathroom, her cat meowed at her, welcoming her home, and jumped onto her shoulder, rubbing his face against the side of her head.

"Hey Auruo baby," she cooed, scratching behind his ear, enjoying the feel of his curly fur against her tired hands.

Under the steady stream of hot water, Petra's thoughts wandered to her neighbor, her tenant, her friend, Mr. Levi Ackerman. She'd liked him the moment she'd met him, despite (or perhaps due to) his mysterious nature, and in the months they'd spent together, she was able to confirm that he was a good person. Testy, rough around the edges, and lacking in social skills, but otherwise a good man.

At first he had wandered into the kitchen at his leisure, but as of late, he'd meet her in the hall, saying nothing and sporting his usual detached expression but as she made their coffees, she always felt his eyes on her and when she managed to sneak a peek at him, his mouth was always turned up ever so slightly.

He liked cleanliness and order, that much she had learned quickly and he had brought the efficiency of her work up a great deal. While he didn't have much interest in actually cooking, he was surprisingly good at it when the situation called for it. His infatuation with cleaning was a great blessing to Petra as she wasn't particularly fond of doing so herself.

She then thought about the time they spent together on days when the shop was closed and she leaned against the tile, eyes closed and smiling. He was a gentleman in his own way, even during simple tasks such as grocery shopping or trips to the library. His politeness however, was reserved specifically for her as he made no effort to hide the coarse language and bad attitude he directed at just about everyone else.

He didn't ever start conversations, allowing her to point out the city or bring up a bit of her own personal nostalgia, but he would weigh in where he found it appropriate.

There was a time he fought off a mugger, his swift and precise movements deadly, yet the control he possessed left the man injured only enough to be unable to pursue the two who left the scene without a scratch. When Levi had wrapped his arm around Petra's shoulder, a siren went off in her mind, a red flag, glaring in warning that her protector, no matter what part he may have been playing in her presence, was still a _dangerous_ man and she would do well not to get involved any further.

But Petra had never been known to be a cautious girl.

That was why, when she stepped out of the shower and danced her way around Auruo who was trying do desperately to rub up against her wet legs, she decided that tomorrow would be the day.

She was going to confess her feelings.

The truth was, no matter how she tried to disguise it as simple kindness or a steadily growing friendship, she had fallen in love with the strange man across the hall. Perhaps she was a fool, too young to know any better. Maybe it was because he was older, or because every ounce of him screamed of adventure, kept silent by his frown and furrowed brows.

Still, she couldn't deny the way her skin tingled when he accidentally brushed her hand or the way her heart soared on the occasions he rose to her games or teasing. Each morning she found him waiting gave her hope, and every night when they parted, she wished she could have kept him for just a moment longer.

"What do you think, Auruo?" she asked, picking up the curly feline and tucking him into bed with her, "do you think he likes me too?"

Auruo yawned, then gave her a bored look before he turned three times and settled on her arm, purring against her skin.

The next morning, Petra greeted Levi with a coffee she'd made inside her apartment. He looked at her in surprise, but she just smiled at him. She'd decided to save her confession until closing, that way if she were to be rejected, at least she'd be able to sleep it off and start work the next day with a fresh face. She wasn't sure how well she'd hold together if she was let down before the doors opened.

The day progressed without a hitch and once the kitchen was clean, the two sat down to some leftover savory pies, a much needed dinner. They sat on stools at her prep table on the same side yet both twisted to face each other, as they always did. Petra's back was to the open doorway that led to their staircase and as usual, Levi was enjoying his nightly tea, fingers gripping the cup at the rim, his elbow jutting out to the side.

"Mr. Ackerman," she started, fiddling with her pastry. Odd. Petra rarely _fiddled_.

Still, Levi watched with feigned boredom. She still called him 'Mr. Ackerman'. He had never told her otherwise, and it wasn't until just now that he realized he didn't like it.

"Levi," he corrected.

She stopped talking, not that he had heard anything she said. Something about him 'helping her for a while now'.

"Le-Levi?"

He shrugged. "That's my name, isn't it?"

"Oh, right. Well then, _Levi_," she amended, tapping her fingertips against the stainless steel top of the table. "I've been doing some thinking and I think that it's something you should know about. You see, as I said, you've been working with me for quite a while and we've become quite good friends. Or at least I think we have. I do hope you think so too. It would be awkward if you didn't, am I right? Oh, well what I mean to say is—" she stopped, watching as a dark shadow came over his features. He wasn't listening to a word of her confession. His eyes were focused behind her.

Annoyed by his lack of concentration, she whipped her head around. What was it, she wondered. A spot? A stain? A dish they'd forgotten to wash?

But it wasn't any of that.

There, in their doorway, stood a man. He was at least a full foot taller than herself with striking blue eyes, his blonde hair slicked off to one side. He stood with a calm confidence, saying nothing. The crisp suit he wore was nearly identical to the one Levi had arrived in, but instead of the excited flock of butterflies that erupted when she had first seen him, this man sent the chills of a thousand spiders up her spine, burrowing beneath her skin.

He didn't bother to look at her, keeping his attention focused entirely on the short man behind her.

"Levi."

Levi's expression, if possible, darkened. "Erwin."

"We need to talk."

Without a word to Petra, he slid from the stool and left the kitchen, climbing the stairs at a pace much slower than usual. Erwin followed silently behind. He had no intention of making a scene so publicly

Inside the apartment, Levi gestured for his superior to have a seat, dropping into the armchair himself and crossing his arms. Erwin didn't sit, instead, he observed the dwelling.

"You've made yourself comfortable here."

Levi said nothing and he stepped forward from the hardwood to the small tiled area the layout dubbed the kitchen. Everything was perfectly placed, and though this wasn't strange to Erwin, the fact that there were personal effects to _be_ placed caused him to raise a brow. Up until now, Levi's living quarters had been empty, save a few changes of clothes, enough food to stay alive, and the tiny notebook in which he kept his jobs organized.

But this place was different.

Dishes and glasses were arranged on shelves above the sink, and photographs, held by tiny circular magnets decorated the refrigerator. There weren't many, only five, but each one sported the pretty honey haired girl below them. Levi was in three of them with her, his deep scowl contrasting with her sunny grin and two of them it seemed were candids, taken when she wasn't aware of it.

"You seem to like that girl quite a bit, Levi."

Levi's eyes snapped to the blonde's and his upper lip curled. "She is no concern of yours," he snapped.

Erwin smiled gently. "She's a bit young for you, don't you think? She's what, twenty, twenty-one?"

"I said she's no concern of yours!"

"Levi, it's time."

The shorter man crossed his arms tighter, sinking into the chair with what resembled a pout. He set his jaw, glaring at the man who had intruded upon his life.

"I'm not going anywhere."

Erwin pulled one of the photographs from its place, using a finger to put the magnets back the way his friend would have wanted them.

"Do you know what will happen if you stay?"

Levi let out a snort. "Yeah. Scum will continue to bitch at each other and I can live in peace."

"Wrong."

Erwin stepped forward, towering over Levi and dropping the photograph into his lap. "Your existence is hardly a secret and your reputation has practically become legend. What do you think would happen to your precious pastry girl if anyone learned you'd gone soft?"

He didn't answer, his scowl growing deeper and deeper by the second.

"They'll kill her, Levi. If you're _lucky_."

Erwin was right; he wouldn't deny it. He'd made more than his fair share of enemies in this world and if even one of them were brave enough to make an attempt at his life, Petra would be their first target. It had been a mistake letting her in.

No. It _hadn't_ been a mistake. As he sat there seething, he knew it wasn't a mistake. _Love_ wasn't a screw up. He would find a way around this.

"After this," he decided slowly, "I'm out. For good."

On any other occasion Erwin may have been able to concede with proper persuasion. Instead, he finally sat down, clasping his hands together as he rested his elbows on his thighs.

"This isn't just another job. This is war. The likelihood of either of us coming out alive—"

"I don't care," Levi snapped, his irritation tipping, "I'll do what I have to do, and then I'm done. I've been your dog for fifteen years. I'm fucking _done._"

Erwin rubbed his forehead and sighed. "I warned you never to get comfortable."

"Yeah well I don't give a rat's ass," came the acrid rebuttal as Levi rose from his chair, "if you want to train another beast then talk to Jaeger. Kid's got potential. I'm too old for this bullshit."

"And are there any terms to your resignation?"

From anyone else the words may have seemed insincere and mocking, but Erwin, though ambiguous in his morality, was always straightforward. Levi knew he wasn't asking for terms because he was accepting the request, but because he truly believed Levi would not live long enough to fulfill it. Still, business was business and it was to be done properly.

"Yes. The guaranteed safety of Miss Ral and myself. And any chil—" he paused, then corrected himself, "—and any living thing under our roofs."

Erwin closed his eyes, having heard the slip-up. So Levi had gotten _very _comfortable. Imagining family life, was he?

"Your flight leaves for Sina in two hours," he said, handing Levi the travel documents, "be sure not to miss it."

The tall blonde let himself out and Levi moved to the bedroom where he had a quick shower, donned a suit and his weapons, and steeled himself. He picked up the photograph of Petra, slipping it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, but then removed it, hanging it back in its place. He would carry nothing on his person that tied him to her. Erwin had been right. He'd put her in danger by growing close with her, and now he could only protect her the best he could.

When he stepped into the bakery kitchen, she was still sitting at the table, fiddling with the ties of her apron. When he entered, she looked up, waiting for him to tell her exactly what she was already expecting to hear.

He wouldn't be indifferent tonight. He wasn't going to be passive or dismissive. This moment may very well be the last time he would ever get to look upon her and God damn it, he would make it worth his while.

In four short strides he was before her, one arm around her waist, pulling her forward. His other hand ripped the baker's cap from her hair and he shoved his fingers into the golden locks, pressing his mouth against hers in the very first, and quite possibly the last, show of outward affection he had ever graced her with. If she shoved him away, he wouldn't care. He'd gotten what he wanted, what he _needed_.

But she didn't shove him away. Surprised, but not stunned or offended, Petra responded timidly at first, bringing her hands to rest on the lapels of his jacket, but as his kiss grew hungrier, more desperate, she responded in kind, pushing her fingers into his hair, shivering at the electric energy between them.

He ripped his mouth away from hers, taking a quick breath before he dove back down, splattering hot kisses along her neck, tasting the sugar on her flesh. She gasped, throwing her head back and gripping his shoulders.

"You're leaving me, aren't you," she whimpered, her knees becoming watery, trembling as the rest of her tried to make sense of the pleasure shooting through her veins.

He stopped, pulling her close, his blunt fingernails digging into the back of her neck. "I have to go," he ground out against her skin, closing his eyes, "the choice is not mine."

"I love you, Levi," she whispered. She knew that saying it now wouldn't make him stay, but he had to know. She had to tell him.

She felt him grit his teeth and he stepped back, opening his jacket, revealing the twin pistols nestled at his ribcage. "Do you?"

Eyes glistening with tears, she forced a smile, and with her hands over his, she closed his coat and nodded. Placing her hands on either side of his face, she kissed his forehead, his nose, his cheeks, his chin. "I do," she breathed. "I've always known you were a dangerous man."

This time it was his knees that grew weak. She wasn't afraid of him nor did she look down upon his work. She didn't know the details of his source of income, but just the simple fact that she wasn't deterred made Levi want to fall to the ground and worship her. She was the very first person that didn't look upon him with superiority or contempt.

"Then wait for me," he told her, kissing her again, "I'll come home to you."

_Home._

She let the tears fall this time and he brushed them away with his thumbs. She was his home. It was everything she could have imagined. But why did it have to be this way? And why _now_?

When he left her, she could feel her heart cracking straight down the middle. He never looked back and he never said goodbye. She inhaled and set to work cleaning up from their dinner. She should have at least sent him off with some food. He'd left with nothing but his guns.

She didn't even know where he was going.

**xxxx**

**Author's Notes:** So um. Yeah this was supposed to be just a cute happy oneshot of baker!Petra and mysterious tenant!Levi and then all of a sudden he's in the mafia and shit's going down and yeah I'm sorry. :| It can't be helped. I promise you all a happy ending even though I want to write otherwise, so don't hate me too much. :3 :3


	3. Coming Home

**Author's Note: **Thanks for sticking with this, everyone! Here's the last chapter in this little story~ I hope you enjoy it. :3

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Shingeki no Kyojin/Attack on Titan characters.

**Honey & Spice: Chapter Three**

Petra didn't return home afterwards. She dug out the spare key she kept to Levi's apartment and with steeled courage and a deep breath, let herself in.

She'd never been inside, not since the night she had given him the baked goods and now she knew why. It might be difficult to keep such a lifestyle secret if he had someone like her intruding on his privacy all the time.

It was clean, impeccably so, and this didn't surprise her. What she _did _find surprising was how much of her she found inside. She noticed the photographs first. He had been hesitant to take one together the first time; she remembered feeling his discomfort. The other two times (a festival and a fireworks display respectively) he had been far more at ease, once suggesting the photo himself.

There were two of her there, one of her concentrating while she iced a rather elaborate birthday cake for a client, her mouth set in a firm line and her brows furrowed so hard she absently ran a hand over her forehead to check for wrinkles. She was laughing in the second one and this made her smile. She had never realized his affection for her.

The second thing that surprised her was a frame that stood on a table beside the armchair. She covered her mouth when she realized its contents, blushing furiously. She had given him that paper as a _joke. _

One night, after a few glasses of wine in the bathtub, Petra had taken it upon herself to open up her word processor and make Levi an award certificate for _Clean Freak of the Year_. After it printed, she painted a gold star on it with nail polish, signed it, and presented it to him the next morning, giggling. He had accepted it with a 'tch', and though she did remember him taking care to place it where it wouldn't be ruined while they worked, she hadn't expected him to _frame_ it.

She wandered into the bedroom, thankful that this too was exactly as he had left it that morning. It was as if he'd only stepped out for a few hours and would return shortly. He _would _return, she told herself.

There was a tiny book on the bedside table and on top of it, a photo strip from when she had dragged him into town with her. She bit her lip as a wave of tears threatened to crash over her. He treasured her so much. How had she not realized it?

Sliding the photographs off the book with her fingers, she lifted the cover to the first page. It was a list, written in his tiny, yet incredibly uniform handwriting, and each item was marked off with a single perfect line through it. No, these weren't items, she realized as she turned page after page. These were _names_.

Petra covered her mouth as she stared at the names, all crossed off. All eliminated. Had Levi killed every single one of these people?

No, She decided. Well, perhaps yes, but it didn't matter. The Levi Ackerman she knew was a good man. She was confident that whatever mask he wore, no matter what circumstances had led him to do what he did, that wasn't who he really was. With her living happily by his side, he was able to show his true self and _that_ was the man she loved.

For a moment she thought to sit on the bed, perfectly made as if it had never been touched, but thought better of it. She was dirty from work after all. Still, she didn't want to return home just yet. Nibbling on her bottom lip, she pulled open the wardrobe and sure enough, all of his clothes hung there just as he'd left them. There weren't many, but she supposed in his line of work, moving with very little notice, there wasn't much room for fashion.

Disregarding all sense of respect and privacy, she pulled one of his shirts from its hanger and made her way into his bathroom. Before she had the chance for second thoughts, she stepped into the shower, lathering herself in his soap and shampoo and gritting her teeth to keep from breaking down. She wouldn't let herself cry.

Once she was cleaned, she pulled on his shirt and yanked back the blankets, sliding into the bed and hugging his pillow, inhaling the scent she hadn't realized she'd come to love. He _would_ come home to her, she told herself, staring ahead into the dark room. He would.

The next morning she was late for work.

She forced her smile that day and though almost everyone was able to see through the facade, no one said a word. She took anything with apples off her menus, shoving her recipes into the back of a file folder she never looked at.

Two weeks went by before questions were raised. It didn't surprise her that it was Erd who questioned her.

"Where's Levi been?" It was straight and to the point. She expected no less of her friend.

"He's traveling for business," Petra replied. Though it was true, he knew by the small waver of her voice that she wasn't certain if or when he would return.

"He didn't really strike me as that kind of guy."

She looked up from counting his change. "What kind of guy?"

Erd shrugged, adjusting the laptop bag that hung from his shoulder. "The kind of guy that would just up and leave his woman."

"I'm not his—"

"I'm just saying that it seems kind of weird to me. But I guess you never really know a person, huh?"

She brushed all this aside, handing him the money. "He never spoke about his work, so I don't know any of the details."

It wasn't long after that conversation that the high schoolers also caught on to the mood change caused by Levi's absence.

"Wow so it looks like you really got dumped then, didn't you?"

"Ah! Ymir that's so rude! I'm so sorry, Miss Ral. She didn't mean it like that."

Petra stared ahead, two coffees in her hands and a dissatisfied frown on her face. While the petite blonde apologized profusely on her girlfriend's behalf, the tall freckled girl didn't seem all that remorseful.

"Mr. Ackerman and I were not dating," the baker replied testily, setting the drinks down on the counter with a bit more force than usual.

"Yeah right!" came the voice of another student. He poked his shaved head around his friends' bodies, "we're not that dumb yanno."

"That's right," Sasha chimed in, also coming up to the counter, "we're teenagers with raging hormones. We can practically sniff out a couple!"

At this, Petra looked to a tall boy with warm eyes and a splattering of freckles across his cheeks. Marco Bodt was always the voice of reason in this group of endearing but slightly unruly students.

"Ah. . ." he wanted to help her, but couldn't find it in himself to do so, "you didn't come across as not dating," he replied truthfully, "and quite honestly we were all waiting for you to get married."

The words pierced her and her jaw tightened. Why was she standing for this? She was allowing her romance (if that's what one wanted to call it) to be analyzed by a group of kids. In truth she supposed they all probably knew more about love than she did, but on principal it was embarrassing.

The sixth and final member of this group decided to speak then, "You guys ever think that maybe _she _kicked short stack to the curb?"

Marco held up one of his hands. "Jean, maybe not here."

Jean Kirschtein gave a little scowl then thrust his arm out, gesturing towards the counter and the small woman behind it. "Think about it. He was always so gloomy, hangin' about with his scary face. Who'd wanna deal with that?"

"Scary face, like you're one to talk, Jean!"

"Wha— you dick! My face isn't scary!"

"No, Jean's face is more like a horse."

"_If you must know_," Petra ground out, raising her voice above the arguments of whose face looked like what animal, "Mr. Ackerman left on business and will be back shortly."

On the day that marked one month since Levi had been gone, Petra received an envelope in the mail with no return address. Inside was a flat white card with three words written on it in perfect tiny print: _I miss you_.

Pressing it to her heart, she sighed with relief. He was alive and well enough to contact her. She didn't need to worry.

Three months later, she was worried.

In those three months, she had received no post, e-mails, text messages, or phone calls from him. She had continued to sleep in his bed each night, and every Tuesday set herself to work cleaning his apartment.

Six months after that, she feared the worst.

Both his bed and his clothes had long since lost his scent, washed so much from their heavy use. Even his home had begun to smell like _her_, as if she were living in both places and had a strange and impractical hallway running through one house.

She'd see the photographs of them on the refrigerator each morning when she reached for some juice. At first it had been so painful to look at them, but now the hurt had dulled. He was a dangerous man living a dangerous life. Whether he had been killed or simply found something (or someone) new, she would never know. He had arrived in Karanese to start over, hadn't he? Who was she to say he wouldn't have done it again?

Even still, as dull as the aching may have been, it was still throbbing, and it was still constant.

All four seasons passed with no word from him. Erd became a father to a healthy baby boy, sales ebbed and flowed, and every Tuesday, Petra cleaned Levi's apartment. In an attempt to move on, she had removed herself from his bed, arranging everything to be as it was the night he had left. Perhaps she should have cleared the space out entirely and found a new tenant, but she couldn't.

She grew to ignore the pitying glances from her customers. She knew what they were all thinking. She was waiting on a ghost.

One evening, exactly one year, five months and twelve days since she had last seen him she decided to bake an apple crisp. There was nothing particularly special about that night, but her taste buds called for the sweet autumn treat.

When she pulled it from the oven, she stared at it in its perfection and when she plated it and sat on her stool before it, her mouth watered. As soon as she picked up her fork, however, her stomach turned to lead. Elbows up on the table, she buried her face in her hands.

And then she cried.

For almost a year and a half she had refused herself tears. She hadn't allowed herself to break down when her parents died; she was not going to lose her composure over a man. A man who killed for a living, no less.

But here she was, sobbing over the first bit of help he had ever offered her and alone in her kitchen she didn't care. She cried for the love she had been too afraid to admit to. She cried for _his_ love she had been too dense to see. She cried for the missed chances, the one three worded letter she had received, and then, with everything she was, she cried because she would never see him again.

"If you keep crying like that, it's going to get salty and then it'll taste like shit."

The words cracked over her like lightening and she froze. Slowly she turned her puffy eyed gaze towards the door, her heart flipping in her chest, daring her to recognize the voice. How could she not?

Sure enough, leaning against the doorframe, Levi watched her with his mouth set in an indifferent line, his eyes bored and detached.

The tears stopped and she stared, wide eyed and trembling. He was alive. Here.

Even though his eyes bore confidence and a conjured disinterest, he was battered, bruised, and bleeding. His suit jacket was missing, as were two of the buttons on his once white dress shirt, now untucked and bloodied. He sported a nasty purple bruise on one of his cheekbones along with a split lip, tousled hair complete with what looked like rubble, and if Petra wasn't mistaken, a chest wound that had once been bleeding through the cotton of his shirt.

She didn't know what to do. She wanted to cry some more. She wanted to take her hot apple crisp and throw it in his face. How _dare_ he keep silent for so long, making her sick with worry day in and day out, and then return as if nothing had happened! How _dare_ he! Still, when he let out a deep exhale and unfolded his arms, holding them out in invitation, all she wanted was _him._

With a watery smile she obeyed his silent command, sliding off the stool and dashing over wordlessly, falling into his open arms. He flinched when her chest hit his, but his fingers found her hair and he pulled her close, inhaling all of her.

"You came back," she said, her own hands clutching the fabric at his back, terrified to let him go again.

"You waited for me," he breathed in reply, closing his eyes, finally feeling peace settle into his bones.

He was home.

The truth was, Levi hadn't been sure if she would be waiting for him when he returned. Erwin had dismissed him (and accepted his retirement request) after a heated retaliation on their part. It had turned out that the clan they worked for was a corrupt one that did not bind itself to the centuries old code of honor that the other clans upheld. Theirs was one of deceit, manipulating its own members solely for the benefit of the rats scurrying about and filling pockets with gold.

Fifteen years of work wasted, Levi took matters into his own hands. He'd been dragged away from the only happiness he had ever been able to find, and even if he died tearing the syndicate apart, he would bring them all down with him.

It had been a magnificent albeit bloody success and while the assassin lay on the ground, bullets in his chest and dirt on his clothes, Erwin rose to the seat of power and set him free.

Levi didn't bother to clean up. As soon as he was certain everyone else around him was dead, he stood and boarded a plane. He didn't expect Petra to want to see or even speak to him. He had been gone for too long, but if nothing else he needed to see _her_.

The flight attendants had been hesitant to let him onto the aircraft, exchanging nervous looks and a "Sir, I don't think you're in any condition to fly."

The bank notes he pushed into the faces silenced them quickly.

With a frightening amount of ease and only a slight grimace, he removed the two bullets from his chest once the plane was in the air, sighing with satisfaction when they clattered against the tray table in front of him. When he stood to retreat to the restroom and wash his hands, the stout business man across the aisle stared ahead at the bloodied bullets, his face a ghastly white, not quite believing what he had seen.

When the plane landed he hailed a cab directly to the bakery, and though he was barely able to stand now that the adrenaline was wearing down, he didn't let it show. He'd have his chance to rest. For now, he finally had Petra in his arms. He wouldn't let this moment slip away from him.

"You're trembling," she murmured, sliding her hand up his back to rest against the nape of his neck, pressing him closer to her.

"I'm not," he bit off softly, but his fingers betrayed him, They were shaking; he wouldn't be able to stand much longer.

She pulled away, and smiled at him. "You look like crap," she told him, giving him a small chuckle, "I've never seen you so dirt—Levi! You're bleeding!"

Unfazed by her words he lowered his head to look at his shirt and sure enough, burgundy lapped up at the white fabric, spreading across his chest at an alarming rate. He sighed.

"Ah, shit."

"_Ah, shit? _Levi!" Annoyed at the casual reaction to his condition, Petra wasted no time popping open the buttons of the shirt and shoving it from his shoulders. Her eyes went wide at the blood that oozed from two small holes dangerously close to his heart.

"We have to get you to a hospital," she stated, pulling the apron from her waist and shoving the clean back of it up against the wounds. He winced and let out a low groan. The starched fabric was coarse and harsh on the open flesh.

"No," he mumbled, gripping the door frame to keep from collapsing.

"I didn't wait a year and half to have you _die_ in my doorway you stubborn man!"

With what energy he could muster, he grabbed a fistful of her hair, beckoning her to lean forward. He didn't mean to be so rough with her, but he couldn't have his name running through a public database either.

"I won't die," he told her, "I just need to rest."

Her eyes searched his, not understanding. He sighed and gave her a weak smile.

"They never managed to find my heart," he sad, pushing his hand under the apron and feeling the other scars that littered his chest, "because I left it here with you."

Her mouth wavered and her bottom lip trembled so he inched forward, kissing her softly. "I just need to rest."

Not one to panic, she pulled away, nodding. "I have a sewing kit," she offered, "and I'm quite handy with it."

"That'll do," he replied, straightening with a grimace and heading for the stairs, "so long as you don't piss yourself when you see blood."

"I think my apron would tell you otherwise," she muttered testily, keeping behind him, one hand on the small of his back as he climbed the steps, lest he fall backwards. He wasn't very steady on his feet and if she wasn't going to let him bleed out, she wasn't about to see him break his neck either.

At the landing he instinctively turned to the right, and as much as Petra loved that he still considered it to be his (it was, of course), her hand on the top of his head steered him to the left, to _her_ apartment.

"Sit here," she said gently, helping him into one of her kitchen chairs, "I'll be right back."

She left to gather her sewing things and some fresh towels and he relaxed, taking in the apartment. It was clean and incredibly comfortable, a true home. While most everything was in order, a sweater draped over one of the other chairs, a book lay opened and upside down on the couch next to an unfolded blanket, and mail both opened and unopened gathered in a pile atop a laptop on the coffee table. He smiled inwardly. How he would love to tidy up after her.

She returned and put the kettle on for tea while she also boiled water in a pan. Reaching into a bowl of fruit, she pulled out an orange, peeled it, and handed it to him.

"You should eat something," she told him gently, tearing off one of the sections and handing it to him.

He accepted it with little emotion and ate it even though he wasn't hungry.

When the water in the pan was hot, she placed it on the table, dipping one of the cloths in it. She wrung it out and dabbed at the wound that had once again stopped bleeding.

"I don't know what I'm doing," she admitted, "I embroider in my spare time. I'm not a surgeon."

"It's alright," he responded quietly, tilting his head back, "just close them up. I already took the bullets out. I'll take care of the stitches in a few days."

Flicking a lighter, she sterilized the needle, threaded it, and with a deep breath for courage, pushed it through his skin. Levi hissed unappreciatively when she whisperered, _you really should see a doctor_, and grit his teeth as he felt the cotton floss sliding through the injury. He'd never grow accustomed to that feeling.

"You've done this before, haven't you?" she asked, eyeing the various scars he sported all over his torso, his shoulders, and his arms. Perhaps it wasn't fair to attempt conversation with him, but she needed to keep her mind busy.

"Dogs of the underground don't like to be on record anywhere," he replied, "I did what I had to do to stay off the grid."

Petra frowned and concentrated on inhaling and exhaling steadily. She was starting to shake and it would do neither of them any good.

He watched her through half lidded eyes and for all the days he had spent in her kitchen falling in love with her, this moment sealed it forever. Though her lips twitched uncomfortably and her complexion was tinged with a green that suggested she was likely to vomit once she was through, she was focused on him, wiping the blood that dripped, and being careful to make her stitches as even as possible. It wasn't important really, but to him it meant the world.

"Are you in the syndicate?"

Her question surprised him and he let out a small grunt.

"Your job, I mean," she clarified, not that she suppose such a question needed clarification. "I found a small journal by your bed. Your job. . .is to eliminate _people_, isn't it?"

"It was," he replied factually, "but not anymore."

Petra looked up and he raised a heavy hand to her face, stroking her cheek with the back of his fingers.

"I got out. Retired."

"Can you. . .do that?" Her question was full of uncertainty mixed with genuine curiosity.

He pulled back his hand and motioned to his chest. "With some persuasion."

She bit her lip then dropped her head back to her work, just about finished with the second hole. "What will you do now?"

With a heavy sigh he lifted the mug of tea from beside him and drank, staring off into the living room just a few feet over. "Whatever I want."

To this she gave a small smile, knotted the thread, and snipped it off. "All done," she proclaimed gently, waving her hands in a flourish to show off her handiwork.

"Not bad," he breathed, standing.

"Do you want to shower?" she asked, cleaning up her supplies, "or take a bath if a shower would be too much? I've been washing all your clothes so you've got plenty of things to wear."

Levi blinked. "Why would you have need to wash them?"

The green in her face melted into pink as she looked away. "I missed you," she confessed, "and they smelled like you."

"A shower is fine," he settled on, not prying any further. So long as she'd kept them clean and not worn them out too badly, he supposed it didn't matter what coping mechanism she used in his absence.

She nodded, leading him to the bathroom, pulling out towels, shooing Auruo away, and preparing the water temperature.

"I'll keep the door open so I can keep an ear out in case you need help," she said with a smile, handing him a washcloth, "though I will dart over to your place and get you a change of clothes."

"Why don't you just wash me yourself, mother?"

Petra's face flushed and Levi shook his head. "I was joking."

She cleared her throat. "O-of course."

If the year and a half of waiting she had done had been terrible, the ten minutes she spent alone at the kitchen table was absolutely unbearable. A thousand questions echoed in her head. _Would he lose consciousness? Would he start bleeding again? What if he was wounded somewhere else he hadn't told her?_

A box clattering onto the table pulled her from her thoughts and she looked up at him, hair damp, clad only in his pants and socks, arm still outstretched from what he had thrown at her.

"I bought that a couple days before Erwin took a shit on our parade," he told her, leaning against the wall.

"What is it?" she asked, pulling it towards her. It was small, black and unassuming.

"You asked me what I would do with my freedom," he replied, watching her as she pulled open the flap, surprised when another smaller box fell out. "and that's my answer to your question."

With brows furrowed from curiosity, Petra flipped open the second box, her body freezing up at its contents. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and as they fell, Levi inwardly prayed they were not tears of sorrow.

Nestled inside the box on a velvet cushion sat a modest, yet brilliant and perfect diamond solitaire.

He was silent for a moment, watching as she cried. He had never been known as a romantic and it was true that he wasn't sure how to go about expressing his feelings to anyone, nevermind a woman. Still, he wanted to and even if it was choppy and ugly, he would tell her how much she meant to him.

He had carried that ring with him everywhere he went. Every day that he lurked in the shadows or bided his time in a moldy motel room she was by his side. Each night that he stole the life of another human being, he could feel her against his thigh, supporting him, telling him to keep on. And when he lay in the storehouse by the harbor bleeding, beaten, and near death, she called to him.

"I told you that I would come back to you," he reminded her, his voice softening, even if the expression he wore was one of disdain and disapproval.

She squeaked, covering her mouth and squeezing her eyes shut. Unable to contain herself, she kicked back her chair, closing the distance between them in a few short strides and with her arms around his neck, sobbed into his shoulder.

I'm not going anywhere," he whispered, rubbing her back while she emptied herself onto him, "I'm going to stay here and clean your kitchen, eat your shitty food and feed all the hungry assholes in the city."

She nodded against him and he held her tighter.

"I told you that I would come home. This place is my home."

Her breath hitched and she paused, swallowing. With closed eyes, he pressed his cheek against hers, breathing into her ear.

"_You _are my home."

**xxxx**

**Author's Notes: **SO I KNOW THAT ENDED UP A LOT LESS CUTE THAN IT WAS SUPPOSED TO.

I'm sorry. Kind of. I hope you were all still able to enjoy it~ :3 Please let me know your thoughts; it was great to write for all of you!


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